


exquisite senses

by jestbee



Series: Drabbles for Donations [2]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: BDSM, Dom/sub, Fantasizing, M/M, Masturbation, Phil POV, Smut, dom!dan, sub!Phil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:33:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24661612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jestbee/pseuds/jestbee
Summary: He's never felt the way he did in that room. The night sky outside, the whole city spread below them, and yet all Phil could see was Daniel."Depending on what I am doing, you may say 'stop' when you really mean 'continue'."Daniel's voice is loud and clear in his head, the memory on repeat, and Phil wants to know what those things are.
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Series: Drabbles for Donations [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1775191
Comments: 17
Kudos: 86





	exquisite senses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ItsHoshi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsHoshi/gifts).



> Written as part of [drabbles for donations](https://jestbee.tumblr.com/post/619755164909355008/drabbles-for-donations)
> 
> Thank you for asking me to continue this 'verse. Enjoy some Phil POV.

Phil lifts a cup of coffee with a shaky hand and squeezes his eyes shut. He's been wearing his contacts for too long, his eyes are itchy and tired, and the coffee is barely taking the edge off. The words on the screen blur together and there's no sense to be made out of the argument he's trying to piece together, he should really give it a rest.

Maybe he just needs a break. He leaves his bedroom, tip-toeing to the kitchen as quietly as he can because even though he hasn't had a roommate for over a decade before this year, he knows that it's still poor form disturb them in the middle of the night. 

No such luck. Ben is in the kitchen when he arrives, wearing running clothes and blinking at the kettle as it quietly bubbles. 

"Oh," Phil says, dumbly. 

"Mm," Ben hums and takes another mug down from the cabinet. 

"Did I wake you?" 

"No," Ben says, "I was up." 

"Alright." 

They aren't exactly friends, but Phil thinks Ben is a fairly decent guy. He's not sure what he does for work exactly, something in an office that means he has to wear a suit every day, but he's in his mid-twenties and he's also gay and they get along alright. He doesn't really get why Phil has decided to do the whole university thing again at thirty-three, but then neither does Phil sometimes. 

"Drastic life change," Phil had told him when Ben had asked why he was looking for an apartment. Ben had accepted it, hadn't asked any more questions, which was good really, given everything. 

Ben makes him more coffee and then goes out for a run. It's the early hours of the morning, the streets are clear and Ben says he likes it when it's like that. Phil doesn't ask Ben why he's awake in the early hours, and Ben doesn't ask why Phil is. It works for them. 

Phil goes back to his desk and decides that he has had enough of his thesis. He knows what point he's supposed to be making because he has his outline, but for the life of him, he can't follow the thread of the last paragraph he wrote. 

He doesn't drink the coffee Ben made, instead he changes into his pyjamas and climbs into the empty double bed in the middle of the sparse room. 

He'd sold all the furniture that belonged to him before he moved here. Bought a new bed, a new dresser. These ones belong to him, and only him, but they still feel alien and strange, _he_ feels alien and strange. He slides into the centre of the mattress and stretches an arm out either side just because he can, feels all the space that belongs to him. He's alone, and not exactly lonely, but it still aches sometimes. The absence of someone. 

He unlocks his phone, squinting at the brightness of it. He finds himself in the messaging app as he so often does. Thumb hovering over a conversation from weeks ago. 

_I got home okay_

_Thanks for telling me. Good boy._

It still makes Phil's face hot reading it. 

He didn't know where it would lead when he'd asked Alex to take him to the club. She was also completing her PhD in a similar field and they'd bonded over the buffet at a faculty mixer. Whenever he thinks about what it was that made him ask he can't pinpoint it exactly, he only knows that Alex is fairly open about her life, her relationship, and all that it entails. He only knows that the more conversations he had with her, the more intrigued he became, until one day he was asking to go, asking for someone to introduce him. 

He'd thought it would be Lucian, honestly, even if the idea of doing something with his friend's partner felt a little strange. He knew Alex and Lucian did that kind of thing, were open or whatever but it was all so removed from everything Phil had ever known. He would have done it though, would have gone along with anything they'd suggested because maybe was feeling a bit reckless, rebelling against everything that went before. 

He'd been the one holding things together for so long, being faithful and normal - whatever that meant - so he wanted something different. What he got, was Daniel Howell.

He's thumbed the business card Daniel gave him so many time that the edges have started to dull and discolour.

He doesn't know why he's still thinking about him. 

What they'd done boiled down to Phil having a wank while Daniel watched and yet Phil shivers at the memory. His cock twitches in his pants and he presses a palm down over the top of it to relieve the pressure. He sighs, re-reading Daniel's message over and over. 

_Good boy._

Phil wants to be good. He wants someone to think of him as someone who does what he's supposed to, as someone who can complete the tasks set for them instead of giving up and failing halfway through when it becomes too much. 

But he can psychoanalyse himself later. Now, he slides a hand into his pants and grips his hard cock in his whole fist. He hisses at the sudden thrum of pleasure it sends through him and keeps re-reading Daniel's message. 

He can hear the words in his voice. That voice that stayed calm and controlled, precise in his wording. He was broad and commanding, but soft too. He had a dimple in one cheek and soft curls that fell onto his forehead sometimes and Phil moans just a little in remembering it. 

He's never felt the way he did in that room. The night sky outside, the whole city spread below them, and yet all Phil could see was Daniel. 

_"Depending on what I am doing, you may say 'stop' when you really mean 'continue'."_

Daniel's voice is loud and clear in his head, the memory on repeat, and Phil wants to know what those things are. Would Daniel hurt him if he asked? Phil isn't an idiot, he'd seen the things in that room and known what they were used for, he's heard the things Alex describes and knows what is possible. But would Daniel do that now if he wanted it? 

What if Phil were to call him right now, with his hand on his dick, what would it be like to have Daniel's voice in his ear? 

"Slow," Daniel might say. "Be patient for me." 

Phil whines, his fist moving slowly on his cock, hips bucking. He bites down on his lip, knowing he's alone but still liking the sensation of holding himself back until he no longer can. He won't last long, he never does when he's alone. For all his imagination, he can't conjure up that same restraint without someone here. Without Daniel here. 

"Do you want to be good?" the Daniel in his head says. 

"Fuck, yes," Phil replies, out loud. 

He drops his phone, no longer needing the words of a text message to guide him through now that his mind is supplying him with all the fantasy he needs. It's not a fantasy, really, it's half-memory half-imagination. About what _could_ happen, if he were brave enough to ask for it. 

Phil loosens his hand, yanking down his pyjamas and pants so that the elastic sits below his balls, the pressure on them adding to the overall sensation. His cock is freed, exposed to the cool air of the room and he trails two fingers lightly up the underside. It twitches and precum dribbles from the tip, he's already quite far gone, it isn't going to take much more to get him the rest of the way. 

His phone vibrates next to his ear, but Phil ignores it. It's probably Alex, or his mum, or Ben. He doesn't care what any of them have to say, not when the tension is building so deliciously, not when he's about to come all over himself. 

In his fantasy, he's back in that room. He's bent over the bed, his knees on one of those small stools kept in the corner, and he's naked. 

Daniel stands behind him, unseen but so viscerally there, and Phil knows that he deserves this, that he's asked for it and Daniel is giving it to him. He _wants_ it. 

Phil puts a hand around his cock again as he thinks of the sound Daniel's trousers would make as he moved closer, how hard Phil would be panting. He thinks of the dim light in the room, the scent of Daniel's cologne. 

He slides his cock through his fist, reaching his other hand down to cup his balls, his hips moving in jerky needy thrusts, pushing the wet tip of his cock through the circle of his fingers. 

"Are you ready?" Daniel asks in his head. 

"Yes," Phil says, out loud once again. "Yes, fuck, yes. I want it. Give it to me." 

Daniel chuckles at his neediness. "What colour are you?" 

Even in his own fantasies, Daniel won't give in as easily as Phil wants him to. He places his hand on the small of Phil's back and Phil shivers. Back in reality, Phil bites down on his lower lip and feels his balls draw up. 

"Green," he says, unsure whether it's in his head or whether he's screaming it into the silence of his real-life bedroom. "Green, green, fucking—" 

Daniel raises a hand. The room is quiet, the sound of Phil's desperate panting ringing in his ear, blood pulsing, heart hammering, and Daniel brings his hand down onto the bare, vulnerable skin of Phil's ass cheek with a sharp, stinging blow. 

Phil groans, pumping his fist as his hips buck wildly, and then he is coming. His orgasm pulsing out over his fist, sliding over the shaft of his cock as his hand moves, fucking himself through the last bit with the sweet slide of his own release. 

"Fuck," Phil says. 

He opens his eyes to the sad reality of his small, bare bedroom, and mourns the loss of the delicious fantasy as it fades. 

He gets up, cleans himself off and changes his clothes, thankful that Ben is no longer home, and climbs back into his bed. His phone is still there, slid between the pillows, so he picks it up to plug it in on his bedside table, charging for the next day. 

As the screen lights up, he notices he has a text message and has to blink at it a couple of times before it registers. He realises that in his fervour, he'd accidentally sent a string of nonsense characters to the conversation he'd been looking at. A conversation that now has a reply, an opening to a conversation he isn't sure he's ready to have. 

_Good Morning, Phil. How are you?_


End file.
